


Internecine

by Psychoholic



Category: Naruto
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Blood and Gore, Buried Alive, Cussing, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, Fictional Religion & Theology, Fights, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gore, Heavy Angst, Human Experimentation, Human Sacrifice, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Male Friendship, Masochism, Mental Breakdown, Name-Calling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Roughhousing, Sadism, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Swearing, Violence, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 04:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10070834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychoholic/pseuds/Psychoholic
Summary: Hidan and Suigetsu. Two bloodthirsty shinobi with a penchant for mayhem, mischief, and massive weapons. This is what happens when blood mixes with water.





	

“ _'Cause you can't feel my anger_  
_You can't feel my pain_  
_You can't feel my torment_  
_Driving me insane_  
_I can't fight these feelings they will bring you pain_  
_You can't take away_  
_Make me whole again”_

**Staind/“Mudshovel”**

 

 

After his initial panic regarding his plight, the silence and darkness was calming, even somnifacient. It soothed his incessant raging, sopiting him with its clammy caress. Once he awoke, he assumed it was merely a bad dream – or, dare he say, a nightmare – yet when he opened his eyes he was greeted by the color black. Nothing but _black_. Upon his further investigation with mounting anxiety, not even the tiniest specks of auspicious light could be seen. Mud clung to his skin, the squelching of various insects squirming nearby the only thing he could detect, and with it came the crippling weight of reality that sat its enormous rear atop his chest, crushing his ribs and smashing his lungs, rendering his breathing a struggle with each inhalation. His skin crawled, but bugs were not the culprit this time. His heartbeat was audible even through feet of soil – a corybantic throbbing of trepidation that shook his severed torso with every pulse.

He's still here.

 

Hidan has begun a steady spiral into the abyss of insanity.

The hole. The _fucking_ _hole_. He has no idea how long he's been in here. The earth's damp chill has long since crept deep into his body, gripping his aching bones with claws of ice. Everything is black as a moonless night. The sun's blissful warmth and shimmering light have all but vanished from his memory. Worms, centipedes, and other insects wiggle and scurry across his limbs, the ones near his head poking curiously at his orifices, and he can't shoo them away no matter how hard he tries. They bite, they sting, their minuscule legs and antennae pricking and brushing against his flesh as they seek for an opening to delve into and feast upon him from the inside out.

Thinking, thinking, thinking. It's maddening, all this time and all this silence just to _think_. Jashin, Kakuzu, overdue sacrifices, praying, and food all swarm his brain. Also, when he thinks of that fucking Nara kid, revenge. Murder. Fury. It keeps him occupied for as long as he can stand to dwell on what is now lost and slowly becoming unfamiliar to him. This, in itself, is terrifying. Nothing has ever terrified him before, for Hidan is a man who cannot be killed, and thus he does not even fear death. Because of this, the revelation rattles him to his very core.

When he wants to escape the cycle of torment that is his mind, he talks to himself. He recalls all the lands he's been to, counts all the sacrifices he's ever made, reminisces about his life before the Akatsuki. Curses the heathens in said organization. Damns the leader of it for proclaiming to be a god, as no one but the mighty Lord Jashin is fit to be acknowledged as so by Hidan. Once he's sick of spewing dark oaths, he calls names. Kakuzu, Deidara, Itachi, Kisame, Tobi, Zetsu. He whispers them. He mutters them. He yells them. He screams them, until his throat is raw and painful, until his voice cracks and fades, until every last shred of his energy is sapped and he's rendered exhausted and gasping for breath. Then, for the first time in his life since he was a child, Hidan cries. _Fucking help me. Get me out of here, goddamn it. Please._ _ **Please**_ _..._

No one ever comes for him.

He aspires for the sweet release of death more than anything, _especially_ now; all he's ever truly wanted is to be one with Jashin, and yet the thought of allowing himself to starve in order to die and attain that dream is...abhorrent. The pain and suffering of the aforementioned is completely different from that of bodily harm. Contrasted with the wracking cramps of famine, being decapitated was a stroll in the meadow for him.

So, subdued by his body's vehement demands for nourishment, he chomps off what he can of the insects that get too close to his mouth. It's repulsive. The taste, texture, and the mere notion of what he's doing make him gag and retch and for the slightest second his resolve to survive vacillates, but he forces himself to swallow. He thinks of it as a form of revenge, in a way – _they try to eat me, so I eat them_ – and it helps.

Rarely, moles will bump their noses into him and scrabble their claws against his cheek in an attempt to skirt him and resume their tunneling expedition. Hidan almost relishes their soft, warm touch, the first sensation of another living being other than bugs in such comforting proximity to him, that he doesn't want to think about what's coming next. What he has to do to them in order to survive. He wants to laugh at this new and foreign emotion, this lack of apathy, this desire for anything other than complete carnage – _sympathy_. He actually doesn't want to hurt the tiny animals.

But the muffled grumbling of his stomach somewhere in the gloom urges him to quell his weak thoughts. Lord Jashin would not approve. So, if the moles are close enough for him to sink his teeth into, he strikes. Bones pop and crack beneath his molars and fuzzy fur tickles his palate. Then the blood rushes into his mouth and his initial hesitation is swept away by a wave of yearning, and obstreperous gourmandizing subsequently ensues. Raw meat is far better than bugs, and he devours almost every last bite of it with the exception of the claws. He senses his curse technique activating every time he eats.

For water, he gets a small amount from his meals, but then he has to wait until it rains – which happens few and far between – and seeps down to him so he can suck what moisture he's able to out of the soil. It doesn't amount to much but it's enough to keep his mouth wet.

Acquiring sustenance may be burdensome, but it – somehow, even though his head is disconnected from the rest of his body – maintains his health, albeit below optimal. It's truly bizarre how his immortality works, but he's never questioned Lord Jashin before.

...

The first voice he'd heard since the day he had ended here is a burst of refreshing hope, a flash of illumination that slashes the blanket of darkness in two when rancorous thoughts had been putrefying in his brain just moments before. It's extremely faint, but it's definitely a voice. Paired with the slightest of vibrations far above him, the noise travels through the yards of earth to his dirt-clogged ears. _Is someone digging me out?_ _**Kakuzu**_ _!?_

Elated, he tries yelling his partner's name, but soil falls into his mouth, much to his aggravation. All he can do is grunt loudly and frantically and hope his rescuer has highly acute hearing.

After only a short while, he tires and ceases his din, but the noises and vibrations above continue, so his hope escalates, and he's more than content to simply wait it out. The suffocating weight of the soil lessens bit by bit, and it takes hours before the voice can be more clearly heard. Now Hidan can distinguish two of them, chatting and bickering back and forth. One is light and easygoing and the other gravelly and irritable.

_Wait_. He recognizes both...

"Ah, there you are, Hidan-san."

Zetsu.

Jōzetsu's tone is cheerful as he grins at the Jashinist after brushing off a pile of dirt from his spitting head. Dazzling, balmy sunshine, the first of which Hidan has experienced in so long, kisses his frigid skin with its golden rays, but stings his eyes fiercely. He squints them to peer up at the cannibal.

"Fucking... _finally!_ ” he gasps, his voice hoarse and ragged, verging on a sob of immense relief. “What t- _took_ you so long?” Euphoria swamps him at the sight of the one Akatsuki member whose guts he detests, yet in that very moment he fancies enveloping him in a rib-crushing hug and perhaps even pecking him on the cheek in his delirium – if he had any arms, that is. The next thing out of his mouth is something that had been constantly niggling in the back of his mind since he'd been buried. "Where's Kakuzu?"

Zetsu turns away, ignoring him. He reaches down to pick up one of Hidan's severed arms. "Wrong one," he mutters to himself. "It must be around here somewhere..."

" **Here**." The other arm is on the far side of the pit, smashed between two boulders in the wall, the hand dangling. Zetsu slips the ring off of its left index finger. " **A day and a half of digging, all for this** ," Dokuzetsu snorts.

"Hey... I'm talkin' to you!" Hidan manages to raise his voice to get the bi-colored man's attention. "Where's Kakuzu!?"

Glancing over his shoulder, Zetsu blinks. "Oh, he's dead," he says laconically. "I thought you knew."

Nonplussed for a heartbeat, Hidan's startled expression quickly scrunches into a frown. "Not funny."

" **I'm serious**." Zetsu shuffles back toward him. " **The nine-tails jinchūriki Uzumaki Naruto supposedly killed him with a very powerful move, a forbidden jutsu. Unfortunately I wasn't able to record the battle** – it sounded like it was an awesome sight to see."

Fresh anger boils within Hidan, a welcome emotion long forgotten in the aftermath of his madness. "There ain't _no_ fuckin' way that stupid little snot-nosed brat killed him, jinchūriki or not!" he bursts out. "You're lying to me, you damned weed!"

"He's-"

"Kakuzu's old as shit so he's got way more experience than all those geezers in the councils put together," Hidan continues emphatically. It's wonderful to be able to rant again, to speak to someone other than himself. He revels in the feeling and starts to prate, unable – and, admittedly, unwilling – to stop the movement of his mouth. "Hell, his biceps are bigger than that kid's head; he could punch a hole through his fuckin' face if he wanted! _And_ -"

Zetsu intervenes. "Hidan-san, we're not lying. It's as shocking to us as it is to you that he's dead." Shaking his head, he pockets Hidan's ring and sighs. "I'd show you his grave, but... **we're leaving you here**."

It's almost as if he'd backhanded Hidan across the face. The priest gapes dumbly, stupefied; he isn't sure he'd heard the cannibal correctly. "...What?"

"Leader says you're useless to the organization now, both without Kakuzu-san and in _this_ state, to boot." Zetsu gestures to the scattering of severed limbs about the area. " **It'd be difficult to find someone capable of reassembling you, and assuming that you being dismembered is a constant occurrence, it'll be too much trouble for you to remain a member.** So, in short, you're free to go... **if you can get out of this hole, that is.** "

A livid glare warps Hidan's face. The anger blossoms into pure, unadulterated outrage that floods his system, a powerful sensation akin to fire searing his skin. "Just wait until I _do_ , you piece of shit," he spits, lips writhing. "I'll _flay_ you. You and that arrogant dick who thinks he's a god. _All_ of you fucking heathens! Lord Jashin will enjoy your mangled bodies as prime sacrifices! You-"

"All you ever do is spout religious nonsense," Zetsu scoffs, interrupting Hidan's harangue as he waves a dismissive hand. " **You got yourself into this mess. If it weren't for Kakuzu's countless interventions you would have been a helpless pile of limbs from the beginning**. But now he's gone, and you're here..." He approaches the snarling head, slowly leaning down. His golden eyes are lambent in the shadows and his lips curl into a cruel leer, bizarrely rounded teeth gleaming. " **Where is your god** _ **now**_ **, priest?** "

And then, callously impervious to Hidan's hysterical pleas and frenetically reiterated apologies turned to incandescent screaming and spewed curses and threats so egregious that Zetsu actually flushes a bit, the fucking bastard re-buries him.

...

Much, much later, something novel piques Hidan's interest. Distant explosions begin to rock the earth, interspersed with inhuman bellowing and shrieks and shouts of alarm that raise the hairs on the back of his neck. The noises are quite perturbing – even to one who luxuriates in the agonized wailing of those he maims and massacres. He isn't alarmed, however. Honestly, what more can happen to him in his current state? If anything, it's something to keep him...entertained, for lack of a better word. The sounds occupy his attention, drawing him away from stagnant thoughts and exhaustive merry-go-round wonts as he busies himself imagining what is occurring so far away from him, above ground where he is unable to participate or witness. Battle? Jinchūriki temper tantrum? Invasion?

War?

The chaos abates and eventually ceases after only a few days. Now, all is tranquil. Tentative birdsong filters through the earth and the deer shuffle cautiously out of hiding. Hidan is intensely curious as to what exactly betided above him. Perhaps Akatsuki had captured a jinchūriki. That would explain the inhuman bellowing and monumental chakra levels he could sense even below ground. He surmises that Deidara was behind the explosions. And Tobi – that moron – was the loudmouth who had been screaming, pestering his partner and getting blown up in the impetus of the artist's volatile temper. Though why had it taken days? Could the jinchūriki have been the nine tails? If it were up to _him_ , that beast would have been reigned in within a few minutes. But oh, wait, he was no longer a _part_ of that stupid organization. He loathed Akatsuki for ousting him.

_Feh, their loss. Heathens aren't worth my time anyway._

 

Evidently his god was watching over him as always.

Jashin had – _finally –_ bestowed upon Hidan his divine hand and reattached his most faithful disciple, freeing him from his dirt cell while he slept; he awoke lying on the grass beside the lip of the hole, scythe in one hand, pike in the other, and gleaming amulet around his neck. Hidan was ecstatic, fervently lauding and brushing off Jashin's long absence merely as the god punishing him for being so careless to get himself in such a predicament, turning the other cheek as if his countless days of tribulation were nothing. Jashin is facinorous, Jashin is fastidious, Jashin is not easily conciliated. Hidan knows this and, sedulously, accepts it without a second thought.

Once he finishes a bout of praying, he spends over an hour touching himself everywhere, running his hands over his grimy skin and through his disheveled hair, wiggling his toes and flexing his fingers, reveling in the sensation of being able to move and feel once again. He is astonished to realize that his once lean, powerful physique has remitted – atrophied from lack of use and nutrition. His skin is taut over the shape of his bones, his ribs protrude and his cheeks feel hollow beneath his touch with what little food he's had access to underground. Regaining the lost muscle will prove to be toilsome. He's incredibly sore, stiff, and exhausted, but he's _alive_. He's _free_. And in this moment, it's all that matters to him.

_Suck it, you stupid green-haired freak!_

Staggering to his feet is an arduous effort. He's tremulous and weak as if he'd just recently learned to walk. Leverage is a necessity for every step he takes. Eventually, he espies a brook and guzzles water until he feels sick, then washes himself scrupulously. The clear water darkens to brown sludge that the current sweeps downstream. Being clean once again is absolutely marvelous and it invigorates him. Drinking ignites the spark of hunger and he forages for berries, nuts, and manages to purloin a few large eggs from a bird's nest before the mother returns and attacks him in a squawking, indignant blur of green feathers – then he kills her too. He feasts with gusto until he's completely stuffed, his appetite more than just satisfied, and once his curse technique activates he performs his first ceremony in a very long time. Afterwards, he sprawls in the grass and watches clouds ghost across the azure sky until he drifts into a light doze.

Something soft and wet nudging his foot jolts him awake. His irritable reaction is reflexive, snarling inwardly at whatever dared interrupt his sleep as he sits up. _Worms. Fucking worms_ -

It's a deer. A large tawny buck, with a set of impressive antlers that jut high and curve back over its long neck. Once Hidan starts, it flinches away and snorts in surprise. Hidan scowls at it.

“Oi, fuck off,” he snaps, brandishing his scythe at the animal.

The buck needs no more incentive to leave and, flicking its tail up, spins on its hind legs to leap into the underbrush. Hidan listens to it crashing through the woods until the noise fades altogether, then huffs, flopping back down to resume his napping. But now he can't sleep because, slithering out of a dark corner of his mind, those vengeful thoughts begin to unfurl once again.

_It is time._

Stretching luxuriously, his joints sound like popcorn kernels in a fire. He smooths his hair back and brushes dirt off of his scythe and body, sends another prayer to Jashin. Sans his cloak, pants, and sandals, which had all been blown to bits and seared by the explosion that dealt him his final blow, Hidan nevertheless remains adamant to continue his objective. Nudity has never hindered him before. If anything, his lack of clothing will be sufficient to stun his victim for a short moment to make killing them easier. A wicked grin cuts across his face.

Arms wide and shoulders shaking with a maniacal guffaw that scatters birds and echoes eerily around the trees, Hidan lunges into a breakneck sprint. His silver hair whips in the air as he dashes through the woodland like a madman, twigs lashing his skin, his scythe cleaving the earth behind him. His vibrant eyes are alight with gleeful rage and he sports a terrifying grin so wide that he feels his cheeks threaten to split. A herd of deer scatter as Hidan barrels toward them, their cloven hooves cutting deep into the earth and their white sclerae flashing as they bolt in fear. Surely their collective alarm will alert his target, as if his presence alone isn't already overwhelming, what with his murderous intent exuding through his chakra and engulfing him like a noxious smog. Oh, how the limbs will fly...and this time, they won't be his.

_I'm gonna slaughter you...Nara Shikamaru._

 

**Author's Note:**

> And that wraps up Hidan's side for now. Suigetsu is next! (Yes, I rewrote everything to make it darker, more somber and added wayyyy more angst and suffering. :3c)  
> HAHAHAHAHA!!! Soon you will all feel my pain of being one of the very few shippers (like, almost nonexistent. I've only met one other person) of this crack pairing!!!!!!  
> I mean, even as bros they'd be so hilariously perfect for each other. Name calling, smirking, killing together... They're perfect. God I love them. Do I ever. Kill me  
> Anyways, please tell me whatcha think! Anything need correcting? General feedback? All is welcome!


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